The Artist and the Author
by ProvidingTheAnswerToTheRiddle
Summary: A story in six parts - Seamus and Dean. '"Together." He whispers, and that, Dean guesses, is just their story through and through.' Rated for slash.


_Prologue_:

_Dean is an artist and he's proud of that fact._

_He loves the way the lines make a recognisable shape on the yellowy canvas – canvas, not parchment – as the minutes pass. He loves the feeling of euphoria when he gets that make or break line perfect on the once blank piece of accident waiting to happen._

_But, more than anything, Dean Thomas loves the way that, in his paintings, he's always encased in Seamus Finnegan's arms._

_He hates the fact that it's exactly that – a picture._

_Seamus is an author, and he's proud of that fact._

_He loves the noise the pencil – pencil, not quill – makes as it flies across the page, always half a second behind his thoughts. Seamus loves the way the words twist to fit his train of thoughts, his hopelessly long stream of ideas. He loves the beauty scrawled across some lines on a half millimetre thick piece of tree._

_But, more than anything, Seamus Finnegan loves the way that in his stories, he always has Dean Thomas as his own._

_He hates the fact that it's just that – nothing but a story._

I;

"NnnnnnI!" Seamus squeals and Dean rolls around on the bed, tears pouring down his golden brown cheeks. The Irish boy grins sheepishly as Dean chokes slightly on his laughter. The dark skinned boy has never been prouder of his round faced friend – no, _boyfriend_ – (excluding the time he learnt the name of every player in the Man City team) because he remembered Dean's favourite part of his favourite film.

And that means the world to him

II;

Seamus loves it when he comes home to the smell of warm cookies.

The Irish man grins as he finds his boyfriend in the kitchen smashing the dough with nothing less than a mallet.

Dean's normally chocolate brown hair is shrouded in white flour, and there are chocolate chips scattered all across the floor. One is resting in the hollow of his ear, and the cat is having a pretty good go at the rest.

The sandy haired man wraps his arms around his dark skinned lover's waist from behind, and said lover gasps. He turns in Seamus' arms and the shorter, lighter skinned man presses his lips to the taller's.

When they break apart, Seamus opens his mouth to speak, and Dean shoves a perfect brown cookie into his unsuspecting mouth.

It tastes of cinnamon and hazelnuts and it's so good Seamus actually moans. He stares, wide eyed, at his fiancée, who sheepishly cocks his head at the shop bought packet of cookies on the worktop. Seamus laughs again and wraps Dean in another embrace.

"Together." He whispers, and together they make the most perfect batch of chocolate chip cookies (with no chocolate chips.)

That, Dean guesses, is just their story through and through.

III;

Their honeymoon isn't what anyone expects it to be.

They don't take the traditional late – night love – making route, but sit and talk, curled in each other's arms. They speak of future plans and fall asleep with Seamus curled into the soft curve of Dean's chest.

They stay in Paris for a week, ignoring the dirty looks they get wandering around hand in hand. They clutch at each other when they get in the lift at the Eiffel tower, laughing at each other's stupidity. They feel like teenagers again, and it's the best feeling ever. Young, free and innocent, circled in each others arms as they dance late into the evening to imaginary music. Neither of them would rather be anywhere else, and that's what really matters.

IV;

They adopt a daughter, and she's everything both of them ever wanted.

Lola is so like them it's uncanny – wildly curly, sandy coloured hair, bright blue eyes, and caramel tinted skin. She's beautiful, and has both of her fathers curled around her little finger.

As a three year old, she makes cookies better than Dean or Seamus. They stand and watch, bemused, as she runs her eyes over the recipe and, half an hour later, offers them both a still – warm cookie and a sweet smile.

As a six year old, she's reading thorough the first of Seamus' stories.

She sits, hopelessly lost, in the big red leather armchair with her legs crossed and her brow furrowed, turning the pages at lightning speed. She hands the book back to her Irish parent with her soft smile and a compliment.

As a fifteen year old, she brings her first boyfriend home. He's tall and has dark brown hair, and looks at Lola like he's drinking in her beauty. When Dean walks in on his daughter asleep, curled up in Daniel's arms, with him smiling and stroking her hair, he feels a pang of jealousy. Seamus takes his hand and kisses him softly, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as Dean cries and cries and cries. He tells him she can't be growing up too fast because she grew up and got on with life when she was three.

As a twenty two year old, Lola gets married.

It's still the same boy, and he still looks at her like she's the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen, and Lola still looks at Dan like he's a prince. Lola seems to radiate beauty and both her parents barely manage to hold back tears as they watch their daughter soar.

V;

Dean smiles sadly as Seamus kisses him goodbye softly and turns away into the midst of the battle. They both want the same thing, Dean knows, but at the moment, there's no Monty Python quotes, no honeymoon, no cookies, and certainly no girl called Lola. If they survive, the two lovers will move in together and make a life like Dean dreams of. But there's a war standing in the way of them and paradise, and Dean's prepared to go through it to be with the Irish boy. So, for now, Dean Thomas will carry on dreaming of biscuits and baby girls, painting his life out on bits of old canvas.


End file.
